


Summer

by kikibug13



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Multi, One Shot, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7424488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikibug13/pseuds/kikibug13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hercules Mulligan is a busy man, organizing his first solo fashion show... and when he finds a stunning man in the showroom, of course he thinks he is a model. And not, say, a nobleman...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crotalus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crotalus/gifts).



> From a prompt meme!

Hercules Mulligan was a very busy man these days. He had barely begun his own practice when the opportunity came to participate in one of the Big Shows, the kind his former boss had made his name with, and while Mulligan's clothes were already sought after more than fresh bread, this was not a chance to pass up. And, he thought, he'd been in charge of getting more than half a dozen of these off the ground, how hard could it be? 

Insane, was the answer, it turned out. Even though he'd _run_ several, and with definitely inferior clothes, too, being actually the one calling the shots was turning out to be a logistical nightmare. 

He was hoping for a moment's peace when he stepped into the showroom - there was no bustle, so he assumed no customers, when he turned around one of the mannequins to find himself face to face with one of the most gorgeous men he had ever seen, and he had been _working_ with models over the last - well. Years. 

Dark complexion, though lighter than Mulligan's own. Tight curls pulled back into a ponytail. Body lean, but none of that skinny business that tended to get people in trouble these days. Moving with a natural grace and _presence_ , exactly in this moment and at this time. 

"I think you will find that the practice for the models is over that way."

"I beg your pardon?" 

"The practice for the models. The rehearsal. Whichever way you want to call it. And, please, do try to be more punctual next time."

Those large, rich eyes narrowed, but then he tossed his chin up, an odd smile curling his generous mouth. "Fine." His English was accented, but then, they were in Italy, _everybody_ had an accent. Hercules rolled his eyes and returned to his work.

By the time he made it to the common room, the same man was the center of attention, which was rather odd, since his impression was that models tended to be one of: too busy, too tired, or too self-centered to socialize much when prepping for a show. Apparently, this young man's charm could somehow overcome that. Hercules could, ah, see how that would work, really. 

_Moving on_. Hercules Mulligan was not going to develop any sort of crush on his employee. Especially not in this insanity. 

Or so the plan did go, in his mind. 

But as the days ticked down - three, all of _three_ , days - the other models called him _Gil_ , but he introduced himself as Lafayette, so that was how Hercules addressed him, anyway, Lafayette become more and more a vital part of the show that was being put together. One of Hercules's assistants had tried to ask a rather weird question about was he _sure_ about putting this man on the catwalk, but he waved her down, pointing to the man striding down the chalk-drawn lines. "He is a natural."

He was a natural at everything. He seemed to have a particularly quick mind for appraising any situation with startling thoroughness and precision, and once or twice (or three times) he came up with solutions to organizational problems that Hercules was trying to tackle without much success, and Lafayette's solutions were not only workable, but graceful. Like the man himself. 

After the first afternoon, he was rarely the center of attention, yielding that position with a quiet efficiency that, after a moment's consideration, Mulligan attributed to shyness. But the dynamic of the entire group changed when he was in the very room, the usual little ripples of discontent or discord smoothing out as if by magic.

It would all make Hercules calmer and more relaxed, if Lafayette himself wasn't making him nervous. 

No. Not nervous. 

Hot and bothered. 

Except he only had about a day to indulge in that awareness before the show prep became an actual hysteria. 

And now it was seventy-three minutes to the set time when the music would roll, and Hercules was having trouble breathing. He had hidden himself as much as a large man like him could, behind some racks of clothes in the unused storage room, but he didn't know what to do to calm himself now that he _was_ alone.

Then Lafayette stepped behind the rack. 

He was dressed in a pair of mock-vintage-fashioned pants that Hercules had designed, sewed, and altered to fit the slender frame himself. And nothing else. No socks or shoes, no shirt. Nothing. No suspenders, either, and the pants were riding just low enough on his hips that Hercules wanted to reach and touch, of all the skin displayed, just that narrow band...

"Monsieur Mulligan. Are you all right?" 

"Fine. I'm fine."

"Very sure?" 

Hercules was trapped in those eyes, and he licked his lips, shrugging a little. "Only nerves."

"We need you." When had Lafayette come to stand so close to him? "I know it seems as though everyone knows what to do, but we need you for this to work, oui?" 

"You would be fine without me."

"Non."

"You'll be fine--"

And then his lips were covered by Lafayette's, the softness of the kiss contrasting with the rasp of beard on Hercules's smooth cheeks, the motion of lips and then tongue the entire focus of his world. It never ended. It ended far too soon. Hercules was sure his eyes were just about all black, but he could actually breathe, warmth and heat and embarrassment actually expanding and contracting his chest rhythmically. 

"Better?" 

"Why did you..." 

"Because I wanted to, and because you needed to focus. Which you did, even if on me." 

"That is hardly helpful."

A small smirk. "If you listen to me, it will be."

"You should probably return to the others--"

"We have not been talking even as long as a cigarette break, Monsieur Mulligan. Indulge me, please."

"Talking." Hercules got a hot glare for that, and he managed a small laugh, shaking his head. "Fine. Go ahead."

"You are focused on me. Think of me being made up, after I leave the storage room. Think of my hair being brushed out, made up with those subtle highlights you directed to put into it, and retied. Think of people putting clothes on me, your clothes, where your fingers have made the fabric fit just so," Hercules could not quite suppress a small moan at that thought, but Lafayette was barging on. "Think of me waiting for my turn, and then walking along the stage. And then the next model after me, and the next. Think of all those people seeing your clothes, and seeing what magic you have done with what should have been simple cuts, and think of their approval. Oui?"

Hercules swallowed, and his eyes focused back on Lafayette. 

"Yes. I think I can manage that."

"Good!" Lafayette leaned, but this time there was only a light, feather-like kiss on the tip of Hercules's nose, which made the designer cross his eyes for a moment. "I will see you in a few minutes!" 

And he did. And the show did not go flawlessly, but it went very well, and then he lost the models until the after-show cocktail. And there he was, Lafayette, who had both kissed him and balanced him and he owed his success tonight so much on him and--

There was a young, short, beautiful woman at his arm. Her hair was blue-black and at the same time warm and rich, and fell in loose waves down to the top of her thighs. He was looking down at her face with so much love that Hercules's breath caught, hard, in his chest, and the words he had been meaning to say cut painfully into his mind (or was it heart? No, he surely did not have a crush on one of his models. Definitely.) 

Then the bright brown eyes caught sight of him, and Lafayette smiled widely again, waving him over. 

"Monsieur Mulligan! Please allow me to introduce to you my wife, Adrienne Noailles, Marquise de Lafayette." 

For the first time in a very long time, Hercules Mulligan actually gaped at somebody. "Wife? Marquise?" 

The Marquise's laugh was soft and melodic as she tried to stifle it against Lafayette's arm. Lafayette...

" _Marquis_ de Lafayette?" 

"The very same!" 

Hercules's face was _burning_. It was just. He had. He had mistaken a customer, somebody so well-known, even, for a mo--

The Marquise's voice was soft and melodious. "Oh, oui. Il est très beau, mon chéri. Oui."

If Hercules had thought Lafayette's -- _the Marquis's_ smile had been wide before, it turned radiant, now. 

"Monsieur Mulligan. My wife and I would like to extend an invitation for you to come visit us this summer. A private visit, though I can assure you that you shall have orders from me, as well. This is..." His eyes dipped just a little, and Hercules flushed _again_ as he realized that the younger man had glanced at his _lips_ , god, don't make me want-- wait. "For something else, perhaps, if you prove amenable."

"... let me get back to you about that a little... later?" 

"Of course." 

Hercules retreated to the silvery gentle sound of Marquise de Lafyette's laughter, and the horrible realization that he should have worn a longer, looser shirt. Preferably.


End file.
